


Holiday Inn

by HachimansKitsune



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 01:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12948762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HachimansKitsune/pseuds/HachimansKitsune
Summary: A little Christmas fluff fic with silliness and lashings of lemons. Jareth heads to his favourite Yuletide retreat for what he thinks is going to be a quiet holiday, only to run into the last person he expected to find. Christmas wishes might come true, if he can sober Sarah up first. (This is based on the 2017 LFFL Christmas/Holiday Writing challenge.)





	Holiday Inn

**_N: This is a short little crack-fic bit of silliness that was written for the December LFFL writing challenge. It is only going to be about 3 short chapters. Just a little thing to help break the writer's block so I can finish Finder's Keeper and 50 Shades of Fey :)_ **

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Stepping from the car, Jareth stretched, filling his lungs with the crisp, dry air of the mountains. All around him the Smoky Mountains rose, their towering forms bathed in the shimmering greys and purples of twilight. He hadn't visited the valley in a year, but the mountains felt as familiar to him as his own kingdom did. He could seek solace anywhere in the Above or Underground, yet he was often drawn to these mountains. Jareth didn't bother questioning the pull. Between the magic of the land itself and the belief in magic that still infused the families that lived in the area from generations of Scot-Irish settlers who passed along the old legends, the mountains were as close to the Underground as any Aboveground location could be.

The gentle purr of motorcycles echoed across the pavement, as pairs of bikers cruised slowly up the old state road that formed the 'main strip' of Maggie Valley. Laughter rippled from under open helmets, while the bikers waved at each other, sitting upon decorated bikes, draped with small lights and garlands. Seeing him standing in the parking lot, a group of them waved at him, calling out, "Merry Christmas!" Silently he raised his hand and returned their wave. The friendliness of the locals and visitors in this little valley never ceased to amaze him. They didn't know him, yet he was included in their friendly greetings. Life here was relaxed, and so were the people.

The speed of life - mortal life at least - moved too fast in the modern age. So many mortals had forgotten the simple joys of sitting back and watching the sun set over the landscape. They had forgotten what it was like to smile at a stranger and strike up a friendly conversation, over nothing more than a shared enjoyment of a local meal. They had forgotten the simple pleasure of looking at the stars and contemplating their place in the cosmos. They had forgotten so many things.

Sure, the Goblin King had a whole world Above and Below in which he could spend his holiday. He could be skiing the Alps of Darongara, or the Swiss Alps. He could be lounging upon the pink sands of J'lani, or upon the white sands of Tahiti. He could be gazing out over the sparkling lights of Times Square from a luxury hotel, or ensconced in his suite at T'nara preparing for the High Court Yule Ball.

But no… none of those places appealed to him.

He wanted to escape the crowds and forget his duties, while sinking into the peacefulness of the mountains. Turning from his role as king, he longed to settle in a tiny roadside motor inn, and enjoy a remnant of more relaxed travel days in the Above, surrounded by friendly locals and tourists. He wanted the chance to stop and let the speed of life slow down.

Nudging the door of the convertible shut with his hip, Jareth popped the boot and pulled out a beat up leather bag. He didn't have to drive from the Underground portal to Maggie Valley, he could have simply appeared, yet there was something wonderfully cleansing about driving through the mountains. With the top down on his little convertible, he found great joy in the simple act of meandering along the winding state roads, their surfaces often bumpy and cracked from disrepair. He wouldn't trade those imperfections for any mile of smooth interstate blacktop. In his view, the interstates had no character. They had no soul.

Dropping the lid of the boot, he slung the bag over his shoulder, momentarily basking in the glittering fairy lights that outlined the vintage motel, their warm glow reflected on the shiny black surface of the car, along with the red glow of the neon sign above the office…

_Holiday Inn._

Jareth had discovered the tiny motel in the late 50s on one of his 'sabbaticals' from his kingdom - what no one knew is that while the Goblin King seemed to handle the antics of his goblins with ease, even he needed a break from the constant chaos. The little motor lodge appealed to him from the first night he spent tucked in the suite at the back of the row of rooms, wrapped in the red chenille bedspread and enjoying the glow of the blue metallic tree sitting in the window. Holiday Inn had become his Yule retreat. The style of the rooms and decorations changed over the years, but the hospitality shown by Paula the owner never did. After the third year, she automatically reserved the same suite for him the following year, never questioning the fact that while she grew older, her red hair fading to silver, he remained the same.

Glancing at the large pine tree next to the cement firepit that twinkled merrily, bedecked with multi-colored lights, strands of golden beads and large ornaments of red and gold, Jareth smiled to himself and pulled a gaily wrapped present from his bag. Every year Paula had a gift waiting for him, usually something she had made especially for him - scarves, gloves, socks, hats. For the last 60 years he had never wanted for knitted items to keep himself warm. Being Fae, he always had a gift for her in return, but it was more than an obligation based upon the rules of mortal interaction. There were few mortals he truly trusted and cared for in the Above, but Paula was definitely at the top of the list.

A cheery bell rang out as he pushed open the office door. The scent of hot chocolate and baking sugar cookies hit him with a force all its own, accompanied by Christmas carols being warbled off key. Every item that could be decorated in the narrow office was decorated - twinkle lights, baubles, ornaments, Santas, snowmen, gingerbread men, elves (who looked nothing like a real elf) - if it was a form of Christmas kitsch, it was probably found in the small office. Sitting the tissue wrapped bottle on the counter, Jareth tapped the small bell.

"Paula! It's Santa," he called out with a laugh, only to freeze when a purple head poked around the door leading to the owner's apartment.

"Oh...hi! You must be Mr. King," the girl grinned, coming through the door as she pushed the thick black glasses up her flour speckled nose. "Sorry, I was making cookies. We're offering cookies and hot chocolate to all guests tonight. I'm Tara," she added holding out her hand.

Shaking her hand, Jareth frowned slightly, his smile falling a bit. "I had hoped to see Paula. Is she in?"

Tara wiped her hands on her jeans and stepped behind the counter, shaking her head. "Aunt Paula decided to retire to Florida, but she gave us something to give you if you showed up." Reaching under the counter she pulled out a large box wrapped in garish lime green paper, covered in hot pink flamingos wearing Santa hats. "The paper is so terrible, it's awesome."

Laughing, Jareth nodded and gingerly pulled the box toward himself, marveling at the wrapping paper. "Yes, it is eye-searing and mesmerizing. I assume my usual room is ready then?"

"Sure is. She called last night to make sure we had left the end room open for you."

"We?"

Flipping open the red guest book on the counter, Tara nodded and offered him a pen, "Yeah. Aunt Paula gave the motel to her niece, my girlfriend. She knows how we love the holidays, so she knew we'd keep her legacy going. Your total will be $256.13."

Jareth took the pen, offering her a credit card in the same gesture. The business-like nature of their interaction sat at odds with the tumultuous thoughts that unsettled him. It had taken years for him to trust Paula, even though she accepted his presence every Christmas without question or interference. Jareth sighed inwardly, surveying the youthful woman before him. She would be far too young to accept the fact that he never aged. 'I guess this will be my last Yule at Holiday Inn,' he mused, forcing himself to smile at the young woman behind the counter, afterall, it was hardly her fault. That was the problem with having ortals as friends, aging was inevitable - he could hardly offer each of them a place in his kingdom.

"And...what...did she say about me?"

Tara's face lit up, a broad grin curling her lips, as her sparkly black painted fingertips toyed with her purple plaits. "She said you were a very special guest who shows up two days before Christmas every year and stays for four days. She made us promise to take extra good care of you," Tara said, returning his credit card and handing him the receipt.

His neat signature flowed across the paper, signalling the end of their transaction, the final step being the key she laid on the counter attached to a large golden jingle-bell painted with sprigs of holly. Before he touched the key, the holiday bells above the office door chimed loudly.

"Have you seen my cider? I've misplaced it...and I think it's last hard cider we've got. I probably left it room 13 when I was turning the decorations on."

Turning, Jareth saw a young woman in a short red 'Santa's elf' dress dart into the office to squat down in front of a small bar fridge tucked at the end of the counter. She rummaged inside the fridge muttering to herself, the tiny silver bells hanging from her red and white striped Santa hat chiming in harmony with the bells tied around the ends of her brunette plaits.

"We'll find out soon enough. Mr. King here, just checked into room 13 for the holidays," Tara grinned.

Still looking in the small fridge, the brunette muttered. "Well Mr. King... if you find my cider, you can have a drink… or three. I found some fruitcake stout instead," she chirped happily as she pulled a dark red bottle from the fridge and hopped up. Flipping her braids back she looked up at Jareth, then froze. "Holy shit…it's you!"

"Sarah?!" Tara gasped, shocked at Sarah's words.

"Mr. King I'm….."

Sarah gawped at the sight before her. He might be dressed like a human in jeans with a dark blue sweater and a beat up leather jacket, but she'd know the Goblin King anywhere.

"Jareth?" she muttered, her green eyes narrowing in confusion.

The disbelief on Jareth's face easily matched her own. "Sarah?"

"Sarah?" Tara asked, glancing from her best friend to Mr. King and back again.

"Jareth!" Sarah squeaked with more conviction this time, pointing at the blonde in the leather jacket and giving Tara an imploring look.

"Sarah…" Jareth started, only to be cut off by a laugh from Tara.

"Janet!" she shouted, her laughter ringing through the small office. "Now if we can finish with the Mickey-Mouse roll call, I'd love to know how you two know each other."

"It's a long story," Jareth and Sarah muttered as one, before their eyes snapped to each other with identical suspicious looks.

Pursing her lips, Tara was torn between more laughter and concern over the way the two of them were looking at each other. "Ohhhhhkay…. The tension in here is as heavy as Aunt Paula's fruitcake, and that is pretty damn heavy. So why don't I show you to your room."

Sarah shook her head. "Nope… I'll do it." With a sharp thump on the bottle opener attached to the end of the counter, Sarah opened her stout, then without a word, upended it, gulping down the bittersweet liquid.

For years Jareth had wondered what Sarah was doing and how she was. Finding her in charge of his favourite holiday retreat, dressed as a sexy Santa's helper and currently downing an entire lager in a way that would make any gobliness proud, was quite frankly, not high on his list of possibilites. Unable to help himself, Jareth watched her throat pull as she sucked the bottle dry, a familiar tightening in his groin making him smile. He made it a point never to dally with mortals, but for this particular mortal, he would gladly make an exception.

Dropping the empty bottle in the trash bin, Sarah smiled and picked up the key, the large bell ringing loudly in the tense silence of the office. "Follow me...Your...ma-majesty," she giggled, then hiccuped, tettering briefly on her stack-heeled boots, completely oblivious to the horrified look on Tara's face.

Jareth followed along behind her as she left the office, biting back a laugh at the way her weaving steps zig-zagged from one side of the little walkway to the other. Reaching the door of the suite, she wobbled, catching her heel in the edge of the bricks. On impulse, Jareth steadied her with a gentle hand, as she stumbled.

"Are you sober enough to be wearing those shoes, Sarah?" he chuckled, when she jerked her elbow from his grasp.

"Are you sober enough to be wearing those pants?" she snickered, then frowned. Weaving, she grabbed the doorway to steady herself. "That didn't make any sense, but then again...neither do your pants. Or your hair for that matter."

Laughing out right now, Jareth watched her attempt to put the key in the lock on the door and miss several times. "I could always take them off if you find them so objectionable," he grinned, as he plucked the key from her fingers and unlocked the door, pushing it open with a flourish that made her stumble through it and land on the candy cane striped footstool at the end of the king sized bed. "My pants that is, not my hair...which is staying precisely where it is," he added, walking into the room and dropping his bag upon the bed.

"My cider!" Sarah giggled and grabbed the open bottle from where it sat in the middle of a Christmas Village scene laid out on the top of the dresser.

Before she could do more than open her mouth to kiss the bottle, Jareth deftly intercepted it ,and downed the contents himself, relishing the icy chill of the cider. "I think you've had  _quite_  enough to drink, Sarah."

"Hey! No fair…."

Jareth tried to bite back a laugh at the way she froze, her green eyes wide as she looked at him.

"It is perfectly fair. You, are drunk…. Or bloody close to it."

"The Goblin King is sitting in suite 13 of my motel. I think getting drunk is a fuh...fuh...fantastic idea."

Arching an eyebrow at her, Jareth shook his head, "Have you had dinner?"

"Do sugar cookies count?" she asked, pushing to her feet, her hands on her hips as she struggled to stay upright.

Jareth found himself momentarily fascinated by the slight pout of her cranberry lips. "Most certainly not."

"Then...no," she muttered, eyeing him with a suspicious grin. "Waaaait a second! Is the mighty Goblin King asking me out?"

Snorting quietly, Jareth shook his head. "I don't dally with those who are otherwise spoken for."

At his words, Sarah's face fell; her green eyes dulling at his words. "Oh right. You're a king," she muttered. Turning she wobbled toward the door.

Jareth reached out and gently stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Sarah, I meant I wouldn't ask you anything improper that might impinge upon your relationship."

"What relationship?"

Frowning, Jareth wondered at the confusion etched upon her face. "With...Tara?"

Sarah blinked once. Then twice. Then… she laughed, the sound making Jareth bristle.

"I'm not in a relationship with Tara...or anyone else for that matter."

"But...she referred to you as her girlfriend."

"Well...we are...um...were...but...not anymore...at least not like that...what I mean is…ahh...fuck. It's complicated. We're best friends who...have been known to 'date' for kicks."

Pausing, a slow smirk spread across Jareth's face. "You're friends with benefits."

Sarah's cheeks flushed pink and she nodded. "Yeah...sometimes. And I can't believe I'm discussing this with you. I am sooooo not drunk enough for this." Pulling the door open, Sarah stepped out of the suite and into the crisp mountain air, which made the fuzzy feeling of being tipsy more pronounced. With the motel and the mountains dancing before her eyes, she started to wobble down the path. "G'night Jareth."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to go find the rest of that six-pack of fruitcake stout and see how many growlers I have to drink before I forget this conversation ever happened," Sarah grumbled, as she began to stagger her way back toward the office.

"I'm afraid I can't in good conscience let you do that, Sarah," Jareth said, following her out the door. "Come to dinner with me at least. Just to offset the alcohol. Nothing more."

"Nothing...nothing tra la la," she muttered, waving her hands wide enough to make her stumble. Stopping, Sarah whirled fast enough that she lurched against the railing along the porch, and would have fallen if it weren't for his firm hands grasping her waist and holding her up. Sarah tilted her head, looking at him, while her lips opened and closed, as if she were fighting with herself about what to say.

"Just dinner?" she finally managed to ask.

"Unless you fancy breakfast too," he chuckled, his pale eyes glittering wickedly at bright blush that flowed from her cheeks down across the pale curve of her cleavage.

Biting her lip, Sarah couldn't help but return his smile, an unaccustomed, but not unwelcome warmth fluttering low in her belly. "Um...no breakfast...dinner...dinner is...a start."

Jareth took her arm in his and waved his hand toward the suite. The door fell shut with a muted click. "A start...I can live with that," he chuckled, a sly smile curled his lips. "If breakfast is off the table, we can at least discuss...dessert."

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**Author's Note:**  *peers under tree for reviews wrapped as presents* Please review... reviews are the writer's equivalent of stocking stuffers! :)


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